The Deal
by Zephyr
Summary: The Queen's identity is discovered and Tessa must decide if the deal she is offered to protect it is worth the sacrifice. (Recently edited after getting to view some favorite episodes and watch some I'd never seen - ten years later!)


The Deal

Chico raced across the countryside. His rider, fluid with the rhythm of his strides, urged him onward, conscious of the pouch of coins clutched in her hand and the height of the sun in the sky.

If she could just beat the soldiers to the widow Martinez's, she thought, the money she held could keep her and her five children safe and sheltered for another month. If not, their property, their animals, their land - everything would be seized by the government and they would be left homeless.

News of Senora Martinez's inability to pay her taxes was buzzing throughout the pueblo that morning. The padre himself had gone to plead with Montoya on the widow's behalf. Montoya explained to him that he had already extended the widow's debts (with interest) 'as long as he could.' The taxes had to be paid and since the Senora refused to sell her property in order to make payment, the colonel was forced to take matters into his own reluctant hands. The padre was then 'escorted' out as his words of charity had turned to words of outrage. All this Vera related to Tessa when she and Marta arrived in town.

"When will all this happen?"

"The soldiers ride out at noon."

Tessa didn't ask Vera how she knew such details. There wasn't time, even if she couldn't already guess.

"The padre's riding out to all the haciendas right now trying to raise the money for the Senora," Vera added, "But there is so little time and it is such a lot of money."

Tessa jumped at the opportunity to take her leave.

"Well, then I must be there to meet him when he reaches mine," she chirped and bid Vera good day.

Tessa resisted the temptation to insist Marta drive the team faster. First, because they couldn't be driven much faster than they were already, and second, they were already going much faster than any respectable and wealthy young senorita should need to drive. Still, Marta caught the anxiousness in Tessa's eyes.

"You'll make it," she assured her.

Only ten minutes after they arrived back at the hacienda, the padre knocked at the door. It was just enough time to gather Senorita Alvarado's donation.

"Muchas gracias, Senorita," the padre thanked her, "This is more than generous..."

"But?" Tessa anticipated.

"But I am still short and the soldiers will be leaving the plaza any moment."

Tessa looked at him sympathetically, unconsciously holding her breath for him to leave.

"I suppose the only thing to do is ride out to the senora's and pray that it is enough to save their house at least."

"Thank you again, Senorita and God bless you."

"God's speed," Tessa replied.

The padre nodded with a smile and left.

But God speedier the Queen, she thought.

The padre was not halfway to the widow's when he heard the approach of thundering hooves. Saying a brief prayer, he slowed his mount and turned to see who was coming.

"The Queen," he breathed and pulling his horse to halt.

"I heard you were taking donations for the widow's estate, Padre," she said, pulling her horse up beside his.

"Si, but I'm afraid it will be too little and too late."

"Maybe not," she told him, "I happened to come across an additional donation."

She dropped a pouch of coins into his hands. He silently counted it, joyous relief washing over him.

"Will that do?" she asked.

"Indeed it will!" the padres answered, silently reminding himself that ignorance is bliss as he accepted the anonymous donation, "It is more than enough - if it is accepted."

"I think the colonel is unlikely to refuse a profit, but perhaps I can get it there in time, Padre, if you'd trust me to make the delivery."

The padre hesitated only a moment.

"Gracias, Padre."

"God's speed," he told her.

She grinned to herself, kicking Chico back into a sprint.

No soldiers, the Queen observed as she approached the widow's casa. But something didn't feel right. Where were the children? The place looked desolate, but surely the soldiers couldn't have come and gone already. Slowing Chico to a walk, she continued her approach cautiously, securing the pouch underneath her sash.

Well, she thought with a sigh, if it was a trap, it was time to spring it.

"Senora Martinez?" she called towards the house.

The door opened and the Senora crept out, looking fearful.

"Buenas tardes, Senora."

"Buenas tardes," the woman replied, glancing back towards the door.

"We haven't much time, but I've brought - "

A loud scuffling came from inside the house, making the senora jump.

Yes, the Queen thought, it was definitely -

"It's a trap!" a young voice screamed from the window.

A moment later Grisham burst out of the house, shoving the widow out of the way to take aim at the Queen. She leapt off of Chico to avoid the bullet's course. Meanwhile, three mounted soldiers emerged from the wilderness.

"Grab the horse!" the captain shouted, trying to take aim again at the Queen, "Get the damn thing out of the way and shoot her!"

Chico reared and sidestepped between his queen and the soldiers, making them run about him like circus clowns.

"Just shoot the horse!" Grisham whined angrily. Then, having a better idea, he ran back into the house and came back out with a young boy in tow.

"You're the little runt who messed this whole thing up, now you're going to be the one to fix it," he told the boy as they went.

The Queen was ready to make her escape when the sound of a cocking pistol halted her.

"Chico quiet," she told him sternly, eyeing the Captain with his gun pressed again the young Martinez's temple. Chico obeyed with a frustrated snort.

"Much better," Grisham praised gleefully, as two of the soldiers grabbed Chico's reins without any resistance, "Now, your highness, you will cooperate, or the boy will be shot for aiding and abetting a wanted criminal. Sergeant! Tie her hands."

"Madre de Dios," the widow cried softly.

The Queen put up no resistance. The boy was trembling in Grisham's arms.

"Impressive military strategy, Captain," she commended him sarcastically, "I'm sure your men will always remember this lesson: when you haven't the skills to defeat your opponent in combat, grab the nearest child and put a gun to his head."

"Oh put a sock in it," he snapped, "You're not going to weasel your way out of this one."

But the damage was done, Grisham saw, the sergeant's smirk and the privates by the horse shaking their heads in disgust.

"I had you beat last time," he reminded her quickly, "Until your dear hard-headed doctor came to the rescue."

"Oh really?" she asked coolly, "Any witnesses to this alleged victory? I don't recall it."

"You couldn't beat the Queen even if she had one hand tied behind her back!" the boy spit out.

"Lucky for the Capitan I have both hands tied behind my back," the Queen pointed out with a taunting smirk.

Grisham's jaw tightened. He turned his burning gaze to the sergeant.

"Cut her loose," he growled, "You and me Queen, right here right now."

He holstered his gun, then, gripping the boy's arm shoulder, hissed into the boy's ear, "You just pushed up your Queen's execution. Take a front row seat."

He then shoved the boy aside. Young Martinez tripped and fell to the dusty ground before scrambling to his mother's side. She and his brothers and sisters, who had crept out from the house embraced him eagerly, yet kept their eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before them.

Grisham unbuttoned his coat and took off his hat, handing them both to the corporal. The Queen rolled up her sleeves. They drew and it began.

He was surprisingly focused.

"Been practicing, Captain?"

"Only throwing darts at your wanted poster."

She granted the comment a wry smile.

She was severely handicapped, she realized as they fought. His only thought was of killing her, killing her and salvaging his pride. Meanwhile, she had to share her concentrations among the ensuing engagement, her plan of escape, and somehow getting the senora's money to her.

"I don't suppose that if I win I get to go free?"

Grisham gave a short laugh.

"Don't worry your pretty little head about that - you won't."

"My, aren't we confident today," she quipped.

She needed a diversion. Who was she kidding; she needed a miracle. Unless the Heavens saw fit to provide, she'd have to settle for humiliation.

"I'm surprised Montoya didn't come himself," she remarked between parries, "Since this was obviously a trap: putting the word out that Senora Martinez's property would be seized at noon and then arriving early to be here in case I tried to interfere. After all the times you've let me slip through your fingers, he didn't want to be here himself?"

Grisham gritted his teeth, recovering from a lunge. He felt the sting of Montoya's words that morning before he left: 'If she is foolish enough to walk into this trap, Grisham, you'd better see to it that she doesn't walk back out of it. I have a pueblo to run, I don't have time to continually devise brilliant yet simple plans of capture just so you can continually bungle them!'

"The colonel is occupied with other matters today," he answered, barely retaining his cool attitude, "To be honest, we didn't think you'd be stupid enough to show."

She gave him a scornful half smile.

"He must not have," she agreed, "Only two privates and a green sergeant to aid you in catching the Queen of Swords? It's almost as if he wants you to fail, just so he can make those snide, condescending remarks of his about your abilities."

Grisham put on a casual grin to indicate that he was onto her game, but his heart wasn't in it. He was instead burning with rage at Montoya, seeing in his mind's eye that snooty, condescending look the colonel had given him that morning.

"Of course," the Queen continued, "He did arrange for the element of surprise as well as a whole family of innocent children whose lives you could threaten. That was considerate of him."

"Yeah, well," Grisham retorted, his voice falling far short of the strength he intended, "We had to promote Sanchez to sergeant after the guy before him died at the hands of a certain lady bandit."

She was nearly positive that it was a lie, having no memory of killing a sergeant recently. But she faltered all the same - dismayed by the possibility that she might have forgotten - and was forced into retreat.

His mind games are working better than mine, she thought desperately, I have to end this. Her only plan was risky, but since no bands of angels had yet arrived…

The Queen let out two short shrill whistles. Chico reared, breaking free of the soldiers and charged their own steeds who, with frightened nickering, fled. The soldiers dashed helplessly after, temporarily forgetting their capitan in their surprise.

"Get back - !" Grisham began, but was cut short as the Queen took the opportunity to disarm him. She wasted no time to gloat, but sprinted for the Martinez's stables. Grisham didn't follow, but calmly reached for his pistol.

She heard the shots ring out and an incredible surge of pain seared through her body a few inches above her hip. Somehow, her legs carried her onward, stumbling only briefly, as a second bullet whizzed past her ear.

The Queen nearly collapsed into the Martinez's stable. She glanced hopelessly away from the horses, knowing that if she could even mount one of them, she'd never be able hang on at a gallop in her condition. Suddenly, something moving in the back corner of the stall caught her eye.

Before she could even speak his title in disbelief, the padre practically threw the shovel into her hands. Hearing the approaching footsteps, the Queen quickly and painfully raised herself to her feet, clutching the shovel.

With two clangs, first the gun, then the head, it was done. Grisham hit the ground with a thud. She peered past him to see the soldiers scurrying back, looking lost. She ducked back into the stable, dragging Grisham as best she could in with her to buy her some time.

"You've been shot," the padre said, "We must get Doctor Helm."

Tessa shook her head.

"Have to escape first," she told him shortly as she turned to the horse beside them, "Give me a leg up?"

He did.

"Here."

She drew the pouch out of her sash and offered it to him.

"Act as if you've just arrived with the money for the Senora," she advised him as she retied her sash over her wound, "And once the soldiers are gone, tell her she can recover her horse near Rojo Canyon."

He nodded, worriedly watching the blood stain through the sash.

"And thank you, Padre," she added, "For serving as my miracle."

He smiled a little at that.

"Thank God," he replied, turning his gaze to the shovel, "He certainly works in mysterious ways."

She nodded, her expression turning grave and gave the horse a kick.

As slow as she was forced to ride, the soldiers could not hit her, and still horseless, they could not follow.

A few miles from the widow's hacienda, she found Chico grazing, waiting for her along the 'special' route home. She took hold of his reins and rode a short ways out of the way to the canyon. Once there, she pulled Chico close alongside the Martinez horse and very carefully pulled her bleeding body into Chico's saddle as the two horses waited obediently. She then tied the other horse's reins loosely to the dried branch of a dead tree a few feet from the canyon's edge. Then, clutching her wound with a sharp sigh, Tessa urged Chico home.

"Dios mio," Marta breathed.

"I'm all right," Tessa told her, "Help me to the barn."

"The barn?"

"You'll hide the Queen in the barn while Senorita Alvarado is out - shopping or something," Tessa explained as Marta helped her up the cellar stairs, "Fetch the doctor, if the soldiers haven't reached him yet. Tell him one of the workers is hurt."

"Soldiers?"

"As soon as the Grisham regains consciousness and returns to town, the doctor will most likely be put under surveillance so that he will either be unable to go to the Queen all together or so that he may lead them to me."

"And if he's already being watched?" Marta asked solemnly.

"You'll take care of me."

"It's very bad isn't it?"

"Nothing you can't handle," Tessa tried to answer lightly, her voice becoming hoarse, "You know me, I just want an excuse to see the doctor."

They had reached the barn door by then.

"I can make it the rest of the way," Tessa nearly whispered, "You've got to get to Helm before Grisham does."

Marta nodded with only slight hesitation.

"Take it slow and lie quietly until I return," she instructed Tessa, doing her best to hide the panic inside her, "I'll get him here somehow. Don't worry."

Marta raced the wagon team toward the pueblo at full speed, but as luck had it, she did not need to make the full trip. She spotted Helm riding back from house call a few miles from town.

"Gracias a Dios," she murmured.

"Doctor Helm!" Marta shouted over and over, not slowing until she was only a few yards away. Her hasty stop nearly threw her out of the seat.

"One of the men had an accident," she told him, "It's very bad. You must come now."

She didn't wait to answer his questions, but turned the team around and rushed back towards the hacienda. The doctor could only follow swiftly behind. She realized as she drove the team on that back that she didn't have to lie, having found him alone. Then again, it would work to their advantage should soldiers appear after all and stop them with questions. Though he might be riding a little faster if she had told him the truth, she thought.

When they arrived, Marta got out of the wagon, telling him only to follow her, which he did, into the barn. There, in a clean and empty stall in the far corner, lay the Queen of Swords.

"I apologize for the deception Doctor, but you must help her," Marta told him, the desperation in her voice sincere, "I - I owe her my life."

The doctor didn't even seem to have heard her. He was at the Queen's side in an instant. She lay on her side, barely conscious, clutching her sash over her side with her right hand. He moved behind her and gently pulled back the sash, now dark and heavy with blood, and then the lower portion of her blouse, to assess the wound. The doctor snorted softly in disgust.

"Shot in the back."

"Don't sound so surprised," the Queen murmured. Her words were barely audible, but Dr. Helm and Marta were greatly relieved to hear them.

"Where's the senorita, Marta?" he asked over his shoulder as he rooted through his bag.

"Having lunch with friends," she answered, "You have some time."

The Queen shivered.

"I need a blanket for her, a large bowl of hot water and more light - right away," he told Marta briskly. She left straight away, taking no offense at his curtness.

"Looks like two entry and two exit wounds. Lucky, no bullets to take out, but the wounds are badly torn, probably from riding or fighting or both – they're essentially one wound now. I'll need to stitch you up," he told the Queen, a trace of anxiety betraying his professional tone. She didn't answer and he wasn't sure she was still hearing him. The doctor pressed fresh bandages against the wound, wondering helplessly how long she had bled before Marta found him. Her eyelids began to flutter.

"Hang on, Highness," he told her, pressing his free hand gently against her forehead, "Stay with me."

She blinked and looked at him wearily. He slid his hand down against the side of her face.

"Stay with me," he found himself whispering again.

Her eyes closed.

"Doctor," Marta said, well after the stitching and bandaging was complete.

Helm nodded absently, not taking his eyes of the sleeping patient.

"The senorita will be back any minute," Marta reminded him. She left out how soldiers could be coming anytime as well, thinking that might make it even harder for the doctor to tear himself from the Queen's side.

The doctor exhaled heavily, acknowledging the gypsy's warning with a brief glance before turning his gaze back to the sleeping Queen.

"When she wakes up -" he began to instruct her, but she cut him off.

"The medicine for her pain, I remember."

"She shouldn't be left alone. If infection sets in - "

"I can check in on her frequently without Tessa noticing," the gypsy assured him.

"If she becomes feverish - "

"I'll get word to you straight away," she promised, holding back her frustration at the doctor's delay, "I'll find a way."

He paused.

"If the soldiers come looking for her - " he began, his eyes bright with the intensity that Marta knew made Tessa's knees go weak. But she was not Tessa.

"They won't find her, Doctor," Marta told him, staring just as intensely back at him, "I won't let them."

The doctor allowed a brief smile in response, knowing she was right to be short with him.

"Why are you doing this Marta?" he asked kindly, rising to his feet, "You do know what the penalty would be if Montoya found out - "

"The same as it would be for you if Montoya discovers you have been treating her," the gypsy told him crisply, "The Queen has done a great deal for the people of Santa Helena; it is a worthy risk we each take."

The Doctor took a small step backwards from the stall.

"Montoya and Grisham will soon be suspicious of my absence if they aren't already," he admitted, "I'll come back late tonight – somehow – when Senorita Alvarado is asleep. Will she be able to remain here for a few days without being discovered by the senorita or the workers? She should heal at least that long before being moved, if possible."

"No one will notice so long as she is quiet. These two stalls are extra and unused so no one has reason to come back here. . . She will be all right so long as she rests, won't she?"

"She lost a lot of blood," he answered vaguely, standing up, "With rest and food to replenish the supply, and so long as there's no infection . . . She has a good chance."

The doctor hesitated, watching his masked patient. The concern in his eyes was clear.

"Doctor - " Marta began reproachfully before he could offer her another 'if' statement.

"I'm going."

"Yeah, I realize she got away," Grisham replied in agitation, his swollen face not doing anything for his disposition, "But the point I'm trying to make is that I shot her – twice. I'm sure of it. She could be dead by now."

"You say this of the same woman who was once shot, then jumped from a cliff and still was no less a menace to my plans."

"This was different. These were close range shots. I know I hit her squarely -"

"Capitan Grisham," Montoya pronounced carefully to shut him up, "Let me put it another way – do you really think that a woman who knocked you unconscious with a shovel, dragged you into a stable and then rode off too fast for your men to catch her was mortally wounded? In fact, I'm having a difficult time believing you shot her at all."

"First of all," Grisham snapped, "The only thing those men you sent with me could catch is a cold - "

"Clever retort, Captain," Montoya interjected sarcastically, "May I remind you, however, that the men I sent with you are your men. Training them is your responsibility."

"You wanted me to fail today!" Marcus blurted out. He immediately fell silent under the Colonel's amused gaze and felt like a fool.

"Grisham," the Colonel replied, "If my goal in life were to see you fail, I could already die a happy man."

Grisham shot him a glare. Snooty bastard, he thought.

Just then there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Montoya called.

Sanchez entered.

"We found the doctor, Colonel," he reported stiffly, careful not to look at the captain, "He was on his way back from some house calls. He's in his office now. We posted guards outside as you ordered."

"House calls where?"

The sergeant began a nervous shrug as he choked on his answer that he had no idea. Montoya glared at his Captain as if to say, 'See.'

"Fine," Montoya told the sergeant sharply, "You may go."

The sergeant obeyed as the Colonel stepped closer to the Captain.

"Have the doctor look at your head, if you must. Then take a search party to the widow's and patrol outwards from there."

Grisham nodded and started to go.

"But be careful not to look too hard, Captain. I wouldn't want you to break your perfect record and succeed."

Snooty, condescending bastard, Grisham growled inwardly and stalked out of the colonel's office.

The barn door creaked loudly upon Helm's return that night. Entering the Queen's stall, he was greeted with a wry smile.

"You'd make a lousy horse thief, Doctor," his patient informed him in a scratchy voice.

"Fortunately, there's no one here in any condition to stop me," he quipped before going straight to examining the wound.

"How's the pain?" he asked.

"Not bad," she answered, "I think Marta gave me more of that medicine not too long ago. I'm not sure how long I slept."

"I have to change your bandages," he told her, "Fall back asleep if you want. You need your rest."

She considered teasing him about his intentions, but was afraid she would laugh, causing herself more pain than amusement.

"You look like you could use a few days-worth yourself," she replied instead.

"Yes, well, you know how it is," he answered without looking up from his work, "Masked vigilantes getting wounded at all hours of the night. Cuts into a doctor's beauty sleep."

She grinned appreciatively.

"I'm surprised Montoya let you get away," she told him, "I'd have thought he'd have you under lock and key as soon as he heard of my injury."

A grin escaped him. It didn't escape her notice.

"Doctor?" she pressed in a playfully accusing tone.

"I thought that sleeping potion was never going to kick in," he remarked off-handedly.

"Sleeping potion?"

"The colonel posted guards outside my office tonight," he met her curious gaze as he explained, "For my own protection, of course."

"Of course."

"The men didn't seem too thrilled about the detail, so I offered them a little wine to lift their spirits."

"Only it was a little more than a little wine," the Queen smirked, "Pretty clever, Doctor."

"Thank you. I thought so," he said, smirking back, "Anyway, Private Lopez, - big guy - I had to coax him into drinking four glasses before he finally conked out."

"I should get your recipe," she said.

"Sorry, family secret."

With that, he leaned back and snapped his bag shut.

"Finished?" Tessa asked. She wondered momentarily if her disappointment showed.

He nodded.

"I'll be back to check on you this evening."

"It is this evening."

"No actually it's this morning," he corrected her cheerfully, "Buenas dias."

The Queen frowned, knowing she could not simply stay put. What a pity, she thought, One more visit from the doctor would have been nice.

"The senorita will be out tonight," Helm had continued, rising to leave, "Montoya's having another one of his parties."

The party, Tessa remembered dismally, It had to be tonight.

"Don't miss it on my account, Doctor," she replied, masking her anxiety, "I won't be here."

"Now hold on," he informed her sternly, kneeling back down to face her, "You're doing well, but you're not out of the woods yet. You'll need to stay put for another two days at least. I ought to insist on a week, but I know that'll never happen."

"I can't stay here, Doctor," she insisted, "Not even two days. I'd be putting Marta in danger - not to mention myself. The widow's home is barely two miles from here. Montoya and Grisham are going to search and re-search all the properties in the area until they find me."

"You can't ride - plain and simple!"

"I've made arrangements," she replied decisively, "I'll be gone by dawn, so whatever doctor's orders you have to give, you better give them now."

He just stared at her for a moment, half dumbfounded, half furious.

"Before I fall back asleep, Doctor…"

"You're insane," Marta said to Tessa's reflection.

"Yes, you said that already," the real Tessa replied, evaluating the dress she held up to her shoulders.

"I won't help you do this," Marta persisted, "Don't you remember what happened the last time you insisted on going? If it doesn't kill you it will at least get you found out."

"As will not going," Tessa rejoined, "I shouldn't have listened to you and said I was sick the evening of Vera's anniversary party over that little scratch - "

"It was more than a little scratch," Marta told her sternly.

"Not compared to this," Tessa countered, "And I had to miss Montoya's last party two weeks ago over that flesh wound to the shoulder, because it was too warm to wear a shawl. It'd be two missed appearances in a row coinciding with injuries received by the Queen. Plus a third last month, when I needed to get into Montoya's office. There is no way I can miss another party without arousing suspicion."

"There is no way," Marta retorted, "It will occur to anyone to connect the Queen's injuries with the health of Maria Teresa Alvarado. Not now that everyone has gotten to know the silly rich girl part that you play so well."

"You're too kind," Tessa said with mock-sincerity.

"Tessa -" the gypsy began.

"Marta," the determined senorita interrupted, "I'm going. I won't stay any longer than I have to, but I can't skip it. You can come and help me pull this off, or you can stay home and force me to explain why I am unaccompanied, which is certain to arouse curiosity."

"Wear the dark one," Marta eventually replied. It was the most she would say to Tessa for the rest of the night.

The left side of Grisham's face throbbed painfully as the guests chit chatted, laughed and danced all around him. He glanced in Helm's direction. The doctor was keeping his distance, not giving Grisham's swollen face a second look after he had somewhat less than graciously refused the doctor's services.

"My goodness! Captain, what happened?"

He turned his head to see Senorita Alvarado with his right eye, which was less obstructed by inflamed flesh. But he did not get the chance to answer her.

"The Captain has had yet another unfortunate encounter with the Queen," Colonel Montoya informed her with concern in his frown, but condescension in his eyes.

"Oh my!" the senorita exclaimed.

Grisham glared at the Colonel. He had heard quite enough from Montoya over the past two days. He was standing there tortured by pain by the order of that pompous bastard. He was not going to be humiliated by him in front of the senorita as well.

"Is there anything I can do for you Captain?" the senorita asked, "Get you something cool to drink perhaps?"

"As a matter of fact, senorita," he replied, tearing his hateful stare away from the colonel and trying to manage a smile at her, "If you would honor me with a dance, I'm sure I'd start feeling a lot better."

She seemed to hesitate a moment and he thought she might protest that he should rest instead, which in truth, he desperately wished he could do. However, she replied:

"My pleasure, Captain."

Grisham shot a look at Montoya as they proceeded to the dance floor. But the Colonel was still quite pleased with himself and only raised his glass in response to the Captain's clear contempt.

A new song began and Grisham took the senorita's hand in his and placed the other against her lower back. To his surprise, she flinched quite forcefully.

"Is something wrong?"

"Oh no," she fumbled, looking embarrassed, "I just mis-stepped."

Attractive as she was, Grisham couldn't keep his mind on the senorita in his arms. He watched the colonel mingling graciously among his guests, smiling and sipping his wine. At one point, he approached Senor Hidalgo, Vera and another of the dons. Grisham watched him lean conspiratorially into the group, a grin on his face. Marcus couldn't hear the joke, of course, but as the dons laughed heartily and Vera smiled coyly, he felt certain that they were finding their amusement at his expense. The Queen could very well be dead from the shot he got off, but did he get any credit for that? Of course not. If they found her body tomorrow, the colonel would still find some way to criticize him and claim victory over the Queen for himself. Hell, Grisham thought ruefully, I hope she lives. It would serve the bastard right.

When the music suddenly stopped, bringing him back to himself and his dancing partner, he realized that, in his fury, he had gripped the senorita rather tightly. He saw it in her face and released her abruptly. She looked as if he might have physically hurt her. He was about to apologize when the pain suddenly vanished from her expression and she thanked him pleasantly for the dance.

"But if you'll excuse me Captain," she added, "I think I'll go get some air."

Embarrassed and confused, he simply nodded and let her go. Marcus, you idiot, he thought to himself. His head seemed to pound harder and he began to raise his hand to cradle it.

"What the -" he muttered in surprise. There was blood on it. He scanned the party for Senorita Alvarado. She was stealing away, her servant with a supporting arm around her and her back covered by a shawl.

He just stood there a moment, dumbfounded until a couple practically danced into him. He hadn't left the dance floor.

"Grisham," he heard Montoya's voice sharply call from the edge of the dance floor, "What are you doing?"

Lowering his hand, Grisham stepped quickly over to the colonel, all the pieces falling into place in his mind. He was about to blurt out his revelation to the Colonel, when he registered the look on Montoya's face: disgust, annoyance - condescension. Grisham's amazement dissipated. A grin spread broadly over his face and he felt no pain. The Colonel looked at him questioningly, but the Captain merely shrugged, subtly closing his blood-tainted hand and clasping it casually behind his back.

A few days later, Tessa walked the Plaza with Marta close at her side, her first time back to town since the party. She was conspicuously pale and her eyes wandered over the merchandise without really looking at anything. Marta chose what they needed. Meanwhile, Tessa couldn't help but fantasize a little that perhaps the doctor would come out of his office and notice how unwell she looked. Don't be so pathetic, she scolded herself silently.

"Good morning, Senorita," Captain Grisham greeted her, looking particularly cheery.

"Good morning," she replied with a light smile.

There was an awkward pause as Tessa tried to work up the energy to be perky and chatty in return, but the Grisham spoke first.

"Senorita," he said, taking a step closer, "I wonder if you could help me. I need a woman's opinion on a private matter. Would you mind?"

Tessa followed his glance towards Marta. A woman's opinion? she thought skeptically. Could it be something about Vera? Her curiosity overwhelmed her weariness.

"Not at all, Captain," she answered sweetly, "Carry on, please, Marta. I'll be back soon."

Marta made her disapproval clear by her lack of response. Tessa sighed inwardly, but put a smile on her face and let the Captain lead her to the Cantina, coincidentally sitting down at the doctor's favorite drinking spot.

"What's on your mind Capitan?" she asked.

"You."

Tessa stiffened. Splendid, she thought wearily, must I fend off his advances today? Hadn't he given up?

"Something happened when we danced the other night," he continued in a wistful voice, "I had a revelation."

"What kind of revelation?" she asked, trying to sound as naïve as possible.

Grisham grinned.

"I think you should marry me."

She smiled as if indulging a child.

"And why is that, Captain?"

"Because if you were my wife," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "I wouldn't turn you in to Montoya for being the Queen of Swords."

Holding back her panic, Tessa looked at him blankly a moment then suddenly broke into laughter.

"You won't be laughing when I show him the bullet holes in your back," he told her firmly, "Or when I remind him that the Queen and Tessa Alvarado have never been in the same place at the same time, or that your absences from parties have corresponded to injuries of the Queen, or - "

"Enough!" Tessa hissed, glancing about them nervously.

Grisham leaned back in his chair. The look of satisfaction on his face made Tessa want to retch.

"Now what?" she demanded.

"Like I said: marry me."

"Why?"

"Why? You're loaded, that's why. Your estate is worth more than your reward. And, besides, I don't have any interest in making Montoya's life any easier."

"What about your life? You wouldn't rather have me out of the way? You wouldn't rather take your revenge?"

"This is my revenge. And it's my way to Easy Street. Look, you marry me, I get your property and you get your secret kept. You don't, I expose you, you either die or maybe you escape, but either way, the peasants lose their champion and you lose your father's property to Montoya. Think about that."

"If I married you, I could go on being the Queen?"

Grisham nodded, a gleam in his eye.

That can't be the only solution, Tessa thought helplessly.

"I'll give you until tomorrow morning to accept," he interrupted her thoughts, "You can try running away between now and then, but could you really manage it in your condition? Besides, I doubt you're willing to abandon your land and your people to Montoya. Are you?"

Tessa rose from her seat, ignoring the question.

"If you'll excuse me Captain," she said evenly, "I have to be getting back to my shopping. Good day."

"Yes it is," he murmured, watching her go.

He was still up, reading by candlelight. She didn't want to startle the doctor. That inevitably brought a snide remark. But there was really no way for any uninvited midnight visitor not to catch his or her host by surprise. Or so she thought.

"Do you often lurk in the dark of night just to stare at me, Highness?"

She smiled with both amusement and some relief. Still somewhat snide, she mused, but at least not defensively so.

"If only I had the time," she answered with a lightly sarcastic tone. He grinned.

"So, you're here on business, then?" he queried, placing the marker in his book and closing it.

"In a way," was all she could think to say.

He stood up and picked up his lamp to see her better.

"Any new injuries?" he asked, suspecting none, based on how smoothly she had moved through his office. She shook her head. He gave her a moment to tell him what was going on, but when he saw her at a loss for words, he thought he had better take advantage.

"As long as you're here I should take a look at those stitches," he said motioning her towards the examining table, "You've been taking it easy, I hope. I haven't heard about any of your usual escapades lately."

The Queen made no move towards the table.

"No, I've been good, Doctor," she told him, keeping her voice even, "And, thanks to you, I'm all healed."

"I'll be the judge of that," he replied, looking at her with some suspicion, "Table. Now."

She sighed then hopped up easily onto the table, shooting him a look of displeasure.

He placed the lamp behind her on the table and carefully lifted up the back of her blouse to view the wound.

"What the hell is this?!" he demanded.

"I had to get re-stitched," she confessed blandly, though not entirely honestly, "I would've come to you, but it was the middle of the day and I was far from town. I figured you'd object to me riding that far anyway."

"What exactly were you doing to break your stitching? Fighting soldiers? Climbing canyons? Chasing bandits? Or just racing across the countryside like a lunatic? As I recall, those were all on the list of things for you not to do - and who did the stitching? Did they have any notion of what to do?"

She wanted to snap back that her stitches hadn't been broken doing anything on his precious list, and that he was exaggerating how bad it looked, but resisted. She wanted his help, not an excuse to continue the argument.

"I happened not to be far from the Alvarado hacienda," she told him calmly, "I was lucky. The senorita was taking a siesta and Marta was able to help me once again. She saw how you did it the first time."

"You were very lucky," the doctor emphasized angrily, "It's not infected, thank God. You'll have quite a scar though. You just couldn't give it a rest for a couple short weeks!"

The Queen simply rolled her eyes and hopped back off the table. This was a mistake.

To her surprise, the doctor immediately let the subject drop.

"Wait," he said, quickly holding out a hand to deter her in case she was thinking of leaving, "I'm sorry. Tell me why you came."

The brief row had scattered her thoughts and his now unexpectedly gentle tone sent a chill up her spine.

"I needed to ask you something," she began, trying to recall what she had rehearsed in her mind before coming, "Hypothetically…"

Her voice trailed off. He leaned a hand on the examining table, watching her uneasiness quizzically, wondering what could be so difficult for her to say. While going over the possibilities in his mind, he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Let me start again," she corrected herself, "I know you don't always approve of how I do things - to put it mildly. But do you - I mean, you do support…"

The words refused to flow and she mentally kicked herself for coming at all.

"I support your ends, not your means?" the doctor offered.

"Gracias," she answered, truly grateful, "That's what I was trying to say."

"Of course I do," he said, adding with a grin, "Especially when that end is saving my life - just don't kill anyone doing it."

He meant it lightly, but the last part made her wince. He glanced away from her regretfully. He had been meaning not to be so hard on her about that, but pushing her away like that came so naturally.

"You know I don't set out to kill anyone," she whispered hotly.

"Yes," he answered penitently, "I do know that."

She continued:

"You think the work I do then - minus the killing - is important to Santa Helena."

"Vital," he confirmed, deciding simple sincerity was the best approach.

"And, hypothetically, if I were to stop…if there were no more Queen of Swords, how bad would that be for the people?"

"I think you know," he replied, clearly surprised that she would ask.

"I know what I think. What do you think? How important am I to the pueblo?"

Concerned by the clear look of desperation in her eyes, he bit back a remark about 'fishing for compliments.' Instead he took his time, studying her face for a moment, then letting his gaze drift over the room, searching carefully for his answer.

"You are," he began bringing his eyes back into contact with hers, "The only source of justice there is in this pueblo. You are the only protector of the weak, and Montoya's only successful opponent. Without you, Santa Helena would become Montoya's own little military kingdom."

She digested his words in silence.

"I'm not the only protector of the weak around here," she said quietly, making brief eye contact with him.

He bowed his head with a bashful sort of smile, before turning to inquire:

"Why are you asking?"

She shrugged.

"I have a decision to make. I needed an objective opinion."

"Decision?" he echoed with consternation.

A pounding at the door excused her from having to side-step the question.

"Open up, Doc!" Grisham called through the door.

She was just turning to go when Helm grabbed her arm, struck with the sudden need to tell her something.

"Wait," he whispered, stepping closer to her, "I don't know what this decision is all about and now there isn't time for me to find out, but a piece of advice if you want it: 'This above all, to thine own self be true'."

"Shakespeare," she replied brusquely, impatient to be on her way, "Thanks, I've heard it."

He continued, ignoring her rush: "It's been my experience that no matter how noble the pursuit itself, if you aren't true to yourself first, it won't work out."

She felt her cheeks burn from blushing. Helm forgot to let her go when he had finished what he wanted to say and she forgot to break away, caught equally by the intensity of his gaze as by the grip of his hand. Grisham served as their reminder.

"Open the door now, Doc or I'll break it down!"

The Queen pulled her arm away and he let her, but he added one more thought as the pounding at his door grew louder.

"You should also know, my opinion of you – is definitely not objective."

"That's it, we're breaking it down," the Captain was yelling at his men.

"Thank you, Doctor," the Queen whispered a final time and made her escape.

"I'm coming!" he shouted towards the door with great irritation, "It's the bloody middle of the night!"

His advice makes sense, Tessa thought. But to which part of herself was she supposed to be true? The part that believed a life should be lived with one you loved, or the part that believed in life should be lived in service to those less fortunate? If she stayed, the first part would be forsaken by marrying Grisham. However, she admitted to herself, leaving - leaving the doctor behind - would have a similar result. But she didn't want to think about that. If she left she'd be abandoning the pueblo to Montoya's whims. There seemed no way to be true to her whole self and she hated Grisham for it.

But she resented herself almost as much. How could she have been so stupid as to let him figure it out?

She wanted race back to Helm's office and spill out the entire truth, as if miraculously he would have the perfect solution that neither she, nor Marta, nor Grisham had thought of. Seeing that it was pointless, she yearned as well to talk it over again with Marta. But in a way, Marta loved her too much to help her this time. Marta could not even entertain the notion of Tessa accepting Grisham's deal because of what it would mean for Tessa. But Tessa could not so easily dismiss what turning down the deal would mean for Santa Helena.

And what of the Queen's original purpose – to avenge her father. A vision of his very self had pointed her towards the taking up of mask and sword. What would he tell her? He loved her as Marta did, so he might advise her to flee for her own sake. But she had not yet accomplished their purpose. How could she leave? It would mean giving up any hope for justice in her father's murder. It would also mean surrendering the Alvarado estate to Montoya's greedy hands.

Leaving was unacceptable. Her decision was made.

"Tessa wake up."

Tessa wasn't asleep, but she didn't answer. Her duena had entered her bedroom with a burning candle and two of Tessa's suitcases. She proceeded to open and close drawers, removing clothes and other necessities.

"This foolishness is over Tessa," Marta persisted, "Get up."

"Marta," Tessa said, half groaning, "I made my decision last night. And this is not it."

"Then you've obviously lost your mind and therefore I will have to make your decisions," Marta snapped, "Now get out of bed. Get dressed. You're going to go see the doctor while I pack. You'll tell him everything: you're the Queen, Grisham found you out and is trying to blackmail you, you love the doctor and he's invited to escape with us."

It was so tempting.

"No."

"He'll come. How many times now have you come home gushing because he said something that hinted his love for you? Clearly, the only reason he hasn't left Santa Helena already is because he's in love with you."

If Tessa hadn't been so conflicted, she would have found Marta's rambling amusing.

"We can't leave him behind. He'll get himself hanged in no time without the Queen to rescue him. Now let's go."

"I meant 'no' to all of it."

Marta stopped packing and looked Tessa sternly in the eyes.

"Tessa, I won't let you do this to yourself."

"You have to. I couldn't live with myself if I ran away from all this. It'd be giving up. It'd be letting Montoya win."

"Letting Grisham win is not much of a distinction."

"It's enough of one to make me accept his deal," Tessa answered solemnly.

As cold and dead set as Tessa's eyes were, Marta's were colder as she played her final card.

"He could be your father's murderer, Tessa."

Tessa inhaled sharply, but sat up straighter, steeling herself against the blow.

"I know he could be. But it wasn't just one man who killed my father. Many men had a hand in it. And if Grisham was one of them, we know he was most likely the errand boy, not the mastermind. This arrangement, having my enemy close – it could finally lead me to some answers."

"Wishful thinking," said Marta dismmissively.

"You can't change my mind."

She then laid back down, and rolled on her side, turning her back to Marta and closing her eyes. The gypsy didn't say another word, but unpacked the suitcases and took them away.

Two hours later the sun rose and Tessa rode alone out into town.

Grisham was waiting for her outside his quarters, grinning. He knew her answer just by her showing up.

"Buenas dias mi senorita."

She smiled pleasantly for any unseen eyes that were watching.

"I'm not yours yet," she corrected him softly. In a normal speaking voice she added: "I'd love it if you could join me for dinner tonight, Captain. A home-cooked meal to thank you for all your hard work in protecting the pueblo."

Then again more softly: "We can work out the details of our arrangement."

"Well, that's an offer I just can't refuse," he answered with a smirk, still reveling in his triumph. It was all Tessa could do to hold in her disgust.

"Eight o'clock, your place?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Until tonight then, Captain. I look forward to it."

With an incredible force of will, she offered him her hand. He took it.

"I bet you do," he muttered before kissing it.

Vera just stared at him for a moment, keeping her expression blank. Only minutes ago she had been doubled over in a fit of laughter. Tessa Alvarado? The Queen? But of course, when Marcus explained it to her, it all fit. Still, what he had told her next…

"Nothing has to change," he told her, "The marriage is just for show."

Vera glared at him. But even she wasn't sure why she was angry. She wasn't exactly jealous. She didn't have complete faith in Marcus, but she did have faith in Tessa - and the Queen for that matter. Faith partly in that Tessa wouldn't betray her and partly that she wouldn't betray her own loathing for the Capitan. Nothing would have to change, it seemed. Marcus would simply become a wealthier man. Was that what she was afraid of?

"Look," he said, "There's just one more thing I need you to do. This letter confesses everything I've told you. If she double-crosses me it goes to Montoya."

"Why are you doing this, Marcus?"

"I told you: I get her property. Plus I get to see Montoya continue to have all his plans wrecked by the Queen and know that I helped."

"He'll have you shot, if he finds out."

"He's not going to find out, because you're going to keep this letter safe for me."

Maybe it was that his wealth would give him more freedom – more power. Maybe that scared her. Maybe he'd start to think he was too good for her.

"And then he'll have me shot when he finds out I knew," she ranted to hide her true fears, "I won't do it. I think it's a bad idea."

"Vera! He's not going to - "

She gave up trying to figure out why she was upset. She just was. There was something wrong with the whole deal - she knew it.

"I won't do it!"

"Vera," he persisted more softly, scooting closer to her as they sat on the bed, "No one will find out. This letter will never have to be read. Things will go on between us as they always have."

She sighed, refusing to look at him.

"And then, some day, the Queen will go too far and get herself killed. And old Gaspar won't be around forever. And we grieving spouses will - "

"Marcus!" she cried out in horror.

"Aw come on," he whined as she rose to her feet.

Outlaw or not, Tessa was her friend and Gaspar her loving husband. Why did she have to give her heart - no, she corrected herself quickly, her desire - to such a snake?

Marcus got up. Her back to him, he gently took hold of her shoulders.

"Look," he said, "I suppose it's not too late. I could still arrest her instead. Though I'd probably have to shoot first her so she doesn't blab to Montoya - "

"No!"

She whirled around to face him.

"No," she repeated more softly, "It is a good plan. I just - I overreacted."

He grinned with some relief. She did her best to smile back.

"Nothing has to change."

Grisham had plopped himself down at the head of the table.

"Where's dinner?" he asked.

Tessa ignored him at first.

"Marta," she told her confidant, "Give the Captain and I some privacy, please."

The gypsy glowered at Grisham, then obediently took her leave.

"I don't have an appetite tonight," Tessa answered coldly, taking a seat at his left, "But I had Marta fix you something for after we've finished our business."

Grisham, considering the servant's rather venomous glare, replied:

"Ah, no thanks. On second thought, I'm not very hungry either."

"Fine, here's the deal: I'll marry you on the condition that you allow me to continue as the Queen, telling no one of my identity - "

"Well, see that's a problem already."

"What are you talking about, these were your terms. I haven't even gotten to mine yet!"

"True, but I've added an exception for my own protection. See, if I don't tell anyone, what's to keep you from killing me in my sleep, or slipping a little poison into my meals? Your problems would be over. So instead, I wrote a letter and left it with a trusted individual, who, should anything suspicious happen to me, will reveal your identity to Montoya."

Tessa rose angrily from her seat.

"Do you really believe - " Tessa began, "How can you expect me to believe that this 'trusted individual' isn't exposing me to Montoya at this very minute for the reward money! Estupido!"

"You can believe it because I don't want my butt thrown in jail!" Grisham shot back, sitting up in his chair, "I have as much to lose as you do if Montoya finds out about our deal. At the very least, he'll have me hanged for treason."

Tessa sat back down with a cold glare. It was quite a benefit to her, she realized, that now even if Grisham caught up with the Queen in the future, he would have to let her go, rather than risk the Colonel learning of his betrayal.

"Fine, you have your insurance that I won't kill you," she answered him calmly, "Now I need some assurance that you won't double-cross me."

Tessa rose from her chair and extracted a parchment from the drawer of a nearby bureau.

"I drew this up this morning," she told him, "It acts as a contract as well as a confession."

"Confession?"

"If something should happen to me, I, or the individual I shall entrust this to, will present it to Montoya and he will know that you kept my identity from him to gain my estate."

The Captain glanced involuntarily in the direction of the gypsy's earlier exit.

"And if I don't?"

"Well," Tessa answered thoughtfully, "Worst case scenario, for me, you don't sign, but instead pull a gun on me a haul me in to the Colonel tonight. I tell him the deal you tried to make with me. You deny it. Maybe he believes you, or maybe he doesn't, but spares your life to use you further. I guess it's up to you to wager how many deceptions Montoya will tolerate before he decides you're more of a risk than an asset. In any case, you turn me in, I'm executed and he will get my property."

Grisham's jaw twitched, imagining the smug smile Montoya would wear when he finally got his hands on the Alvarado estate. The other day's berating still echoed clearly in Grisham's mind, the humiliation swelling into anger. But Grisham set his bitterness aside a moment to grin at the senorita.

"You're wrong. That isn't the worst case scenario."

Tessa visibly tensed. She did not reply, but raised an eyebrow, failing to appear calm.

"I could," he continued, "Shoot you right now. Claim you resisted arrest when I discovered your secret."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.

"Oh sure, he wouldn't believe me at first, no matter how well I lied about how I found out and had to shoot you, because you're not dressed in your Queen get up. But I'd have plenty of circumstantial evidence to keep him from killing me until he was sure. Then when you wouldn't show up to foil his next plot… and I'm sure a search of your hacienda would turn up some hard evidence."

"So, why don't you?"

"Because," he smirked, "Marrying you will be even more pleasurable than turning you in."

She passed him the parchment without responding.

"What's this?" he asked after scanning the top, "You'll enter into marriage with me on the condition that the marriage will not be consum - "

"Consummated," Tessa replied, "We won't have children. We won't …"

"Ohhh," he studied her stony expression lecherously, then appeared to give in, "Oh well, your loss."

At that moment, Tessa realized that she knew who his 'trusted individual' was. Who else could he trust not to betray him for the Queen's reward money? She watched impatiently as he continued to skim over the document.

"I can't under any circumstances sell the estate to the government or leave it to the government in my will?"

"Montoya can never get his hands on my land or the deal is off. I'll expose you and risk the consequences."

Grisham grinned.

"It'd be easier if I had an heir to leave it to."

She did not dignify him with a reply, verbal or otherwise.

"You got some ink or do I gotta sign this thing in blood?"

Late that night, the padre was entering the sanctuary, on his way to lock the front doors for the night. The sound of the confessional door closing startled him. Having not seen anyone come in, he entered warily.

"Is someone there?"

"It's me padre," he heard a woman's voice answer, "The Queen."

He was silent a moment, realizing that he may need to prepare himself a little more than usual for the confessions of this particular child of God.

"I'm glad you are alright. Have you something to confess?"

"Not exactly, Padre," she answered, "Though I have much to ask forgiveness for and I do, every day. However, I'm here for something else. Do you see the letter I left for you on your seat?"

The padre turned to his left and did indeed find a sealed letter.

"Don't open it," she told him quickly, "I promise you Padre that this is a just and sacred favor I am about to ask you. I need you to keep this letter, secretly, never opening it unless my death has been confirmed, or someone comes on my behalf, telling you to open the letter, and then read it and reveal its contents."

The padre considered her request in silence.

"You will know I have sent the person because they will ask you if you have a shovel they can borrow before inquiring about the letter. If they do not make that special request first, you must keep your knowledge of the letter in confidence."

The padre smiled at the shovel reference, despite the twinge of guilt it incurred in him.

"Padre?"

"I will do as you wish, Senorita, and keep your confidence."

"Gracias Padre," she whispered. He could hear the burden being lifted from her in her voice, "God bless you."

A few days into Tessa and the captain's "courtship," there was a knock at Helm's door.

"Buenas dias Marta," he greeted his visitor, "Come in."

"How can I help you?"  
He was surprised to see her without her mistress, but made no mention of it.

"I need you to speak with Tessa for me," she told him directly.

"Me? What about?"

"I'm sure you've heard by now that Capitan Grisham is courting her."

"Yes, I have."

"You have to talk her out of accepting his proposal."

He chuckled outright.

"Come again?"

"She won't listen to me," Marta continued, "She thinks very highly of you - "

"Marta," he told her seriously, "It really isn't my place to advise the senorita who to marry."

"She doesn't love him, Doctor," she pressed, ignoring his protest, "Quite the opposite, but she feels compelled to …for her own security."

The doctor gave her a clearly unconvinced look.

"She will be miserable married to him," Marta tried again.

"Marta, I have no doubt that you have a far better understanding of the senorita than I do, but I've seen her do nothing but smile and laugh and chatter in the Captain's presence."

"It's an act."

"For the purpose of?"

Marta paused. She had to do this without betraying Tessa's secret. The connection between Tessa and the doctor was her last hope of breaking Tessa's stubborn will. But giving the doctor a reason to intercede in complete ignorance of what was really going on was a complicated undertaking.

"For the purpose of convincing everyone, perhaps even herself, that this is what she wants," she told him, trying to incorporate as much truth as possible, "She feels she owes it to the memory of her father and that it is expected of her by the pueblo - she has a long list of reasons, but not one of them has anything to do with her own happiness."

Helm didn't answer, but his creased brow alerted her to the problem.

"I know, Doctor, that you think of her as little more than a rich Spanish brat, but that too is an act. A way to fit in with the dons and donas among whom she is an outsider. She has heart larger than all of theirs put together, and a passion for justice that she keeps hidden. But she is preparing to forsake her heart out of a sense of duty and I fear that will destroy her."

The entire description seemed entirely incongruent with the Tessa Alvarado he knew. Yet it was remarkably difficult to dismiss it all in light of the sincerity and eloquence with which Marta spoke. Marta, who in his latest encounters with the Queen, had shown herself to be a woman of courage, loyalty and trustworthiness.

"Please talk to her."

What else could he say?

"I'll try," he reluctantly agreed, "But I think you overestimate my influence on the senorita as well as my powers of persuasion."

Marta only smiled, looking relieved by the new hope he had offered her.

"Shall I tell her you wish to speak with her then?"

"If you must," he replied unenthusiastically, "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, heading for the door, "I am so grateful."

He forced a smile in return and she left.

Towards the evening of that same day, there came another knock and the doctor's door.

"Senorita Alvarado," he said with only slightly exaggerated surprise, "You knocked!"

He saw her almost smile, but she seemed preoccupied, even nervous.

"You wanted to see me, Doctor?"

"Yes, please come in," he said, feeling nervous himself, "Have a seat."

There were two chairs waiting for them by the window and they both sat. She waited for him to speak.

"How are you?" he began lightly.

"Very well thank you, Doctor. Yourself?"

"Oh, can't complain," he answered, deciding it was time to jump into it, "Senorita, I asked you here somewhat against my better judgment. I feel like it isn't really my place to do this, but it occurs to me that there may be no one more appropriate who can."

"Do what?"

"Tell you something quite relevant to your courtship with Captain Marcus Grisham," he answered with reluctance, "It's not pleasant."

Realizing what he was about to tell her, Tessa quickly considered how she should react as he built up the suspense.

"I am aware, for a fact I'm afraid, that Captain Grisham has been carrying on an affair with a married woman in the pueblo for some time now. He may have discontinued the relationship upon courting you for all I know, but..."

Tessa bowed her head, staring uncomfortably at her hands.

"I already know all about Marcus and Vera, Doctor," she told him softly.

"You do?"

"Yes. I knew before I accepted his advances. I confronted him with it and we settled the matter. But thank you for your concern, Doctor."

Helm leaned back in his chair, slightly baffled.

"I'd appreciate it if you would continue to keep Marcus's indiscretions quiet as it seems you have done for some time already."

He agreed with a brief nod, unsure how to proceed. He hadn't thought he would need to say more, when he'd realized he could appease Marta's request by enlightening the senorita to just one of Grisham's many unsavory characteristics. What else could he tell her if that didn't faze her?

"Well, that's good, I suppose."

Tessa gave a half-hearted nod. Then rose from her chair.

"Well, if that's all," she said, preparing to leave, "I'll be on my way. Again, thank you for looking out for me Doctor."

"Don't mention it," he answered, rising from his chair, trying to think of something else he could say to keep the conversation going, "I only - "

"Yes, Doctor?"

The truth was the only thing Helm could come up with. He hoped Marta would forgive him.

"There is something else," he admitted, "Marta came to see me the other day. She's very concerned about you, you know."

She didn't, Tessa thought, aghast.

"What do you mean?"

"She's concerned, should the Captain propose, that you will accept - for the wrong reasons."

"She told you to try and talk me out of it?" she asked in angry incredulity.

"She's worried about you," Helm tried again, not knowing how else to respond.

"Whatever possessed you to agree?" she demanded, thinking how out of character it was for him to get involved in such a matter.

Helm was quite taken aback by the new, yet somehow familiar, experience of an incensed Tessa Alvarado.

"Her very sincere concern," he nearly stuttered in answer, "She said you were essentially sacrificing your happiness out of some misguided sense of duty."

"Come now, Doctor," she quipped severely, "Would I really do something like that? Sense of duty? I'm no Camilla – I have no overbearing father telling me what to do."

She paused a moment, overwhelmed with painful longing for her father's guidance. For him, however, she pressed on:

"I will marry Marcus, should he ask, because he is handsome and strong and influential and because it's time I had a husband to take care of me - not because of any duty. I don't know what Marta can be thinking, talking to you about my personal life like that, spouting such nonsense…"

The words made sense, but not coming from her mouth. He was beginning to believe Marta was quite right about the senorita's acting ability.

"What about love?" he posed abruptly, almost as if the words weren't even his.

"What?" It was her turn to be taken aback.

"Do you love him?"

Caught in his gaze, she suddenly found herself unable to lie. She wanted to scream, to shout, that yes, of course, she was desperately in love with Captain Marcus Grisham, but 'no' was suddenly the only word in her vocabulary.

"Love is usually at the top of the list of reasons why a person marries," he pointed out.

The spell was half-broken.

"Excuse me Doctor, but this whole conversation has gotten quite ridiculous," she snapped defensively, "You should have stuck to your better judgment, because this is none of your business."

"Hey, there you are!"

They both jumped. Grisham was grinning at them through the window.

"I've been looking all over for you Tess," he said.

Helm caught the momentary scowl flash across Tessa's face. Grisham missed it, having turned his attention to the Doctor.

"She isn't sick is she, Doc?" he asked lightheartedly, "I've got a special night planned for the two of us."

"Oh no, Marcus," she assured him sweetly, "I'm fit as a fiddle, the doctor just needed a woman's perspective on something. Shall we go?"

"The Doc's looking to get a woman of his own, eh? - good luck," he snorted.

Helm didn't answer, too stunned by the clear evidence of the senorita's ability to lie easily - and at a moment's notice! He didn't know her at all, he realized.

Grisham cleared his throat.

"Well, hasta luego Doctor," Tessa said, turning to leave, "I'm glad I could help."

"Yes, well, thank you for coming," he managed to mumble back before she was out the door.

When they were several yards away from Helm's, Grisham yanked Tessa by the arm behind the nearby barn.

"Okay, what the hell was that really all about?"

"We're in public," she reminded him stiffly.

"Nobody's around."

"You're such a fool."

"Shut up - and don't change the subject!" he ordered.

She folded her arms and glared off to the side, her head shaking slightly.

"Does he know?"

Tessa rolled her eyes.

"Of course not," she growled, "I told you, no one knows."

"Yeah right," Grisham sneered, "Marta knows. That's how you got Vera out of Helm's office that night. Admit it."

Tessa's jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. How was it that such an idiot could figure out all her most guarded secrets? she wondered angrily.

"That's what I thought," he smirked, "Now, one more time: Does Helm know?"

"No."

"Then why don't you work a little harder at keeping it that way and stay away from him, 'k?"

Tessa didn't answer him, but took his arm and they walked on.

The Doctor, having crept out of his office to the side of the barn upon seeing Grisham pull Tessa roughly out of sight, heard every word from "Does he know?" on. Dumbfounded, he returned to his office.

Marta was sitting at the dining room table, staring out the window when Tessa came home. Tessa sat down heavily in the seat across from her.

"How could you do that?" Tessa asked, too weary to make herself sound genuinely angry.

"What?"

"The Doctor," she said shortly, "You told him to talk to me."

"What does it matter?" Marta answered sullenly, "It didn't work apparently."

"It worked at making me miserable," Tessa grumbled.

"No," Marta corrected, "You make yourself miserable."

Tessa sighed, wishing that for just a moment they could suspend the arguing.

"For maybe five seconds - that felt more like five hours - I thought I was going to spill out the whole thing to him."

"You should have."

"I should have!" Tessa scoffed, "If I had, Grisham would've heard it all. He appeared at the window out of nowhere. Then he grilled me afterward about what I was doing there and if Helm knew I was the Queen.

"And you know what else? If I had told him - even if Grisham hadn't been there - it wouldn't have helped anything. You have some absurd notion that upon learning I was the Queen, Helm would sweep me off my feet, tell me he loves me and run away with me. You want to know what would really happen if I told him? He'd be furious! Furious with me for lying to him all this time and furious with me for dealing with Grisham - like you are…"

Tessa choked on her last words and the tears flowed. Soon she was sobbing. Marta went to her side and embracing her by the shoulders.

"Oh, Tessa, I'm not angry with you," she told her softly, "I'm just - I'm just afraid for you. I see heading down a path of suffering and I'm helpless to do anything to protect you."

"Marta," Tessa said, controlling her sobs, "Suffering or not, this is the right path, it is the only path...but I won't be able to bear it without you."

Marta closed her eyes, resting her head gently against Tessa's.

"I'm here for you, Tessa," she said, "No more trying to talk you out of it. I promise. We'll get through this together."

Tessa smiled and closed her eyes, releasing two final tears down each cheek.

A minute or two later, when the embrace ended, Tessa felt strong enough to give in to her curiosity.

"Marta?" she asked, "Why are you so sure that Helm loves me when he has shown feelings only for the Queen?"

"What? You expect him to fall in love with a lie?" Marta replied, "You may be a brat Tessa," - she smiled - "but you are not the empty-headed kind you portray in front of the doctor and everyone else. You wear a far thicker disguise as Maria Teresa Alvarado than as the Queen of Swords. The Queen's mask may hide your true face, but the personality you wear as Tessa Alvarado in public masks your true spirit. You hide nothing of your inner self as the Queen, and that is the self with whom the doctor has fallen in love."

Tessa closed her eyes as if in pain.

"I shouldn't have asked," she murmured, rising from her seat, "Buenas noches Marta. I'll see you in the morning."

The next morning Vera Hidalgo sat alone out on the patio, methodically stroking her hair, and staring at the letter held loosely in her other hand. The birds were singing sweetly, and the morning sun shone bright, but Vera felt cold inside.

Things had changed. Marcus was playing the role of Tessa's romantic suitor, and soon he would be her devoted fiancé. Even though he wasn't, he was. He no longer showered Vera with gifts. He needed the money to shower Tessa with them, lavishly and publicly. He said he needed it for the engagement ring as well. Perhaps, but Vera could just picture him demanding that Tessa pay for her own ring. And he hadn't beckoned her to a secret rendezvous once since the 'courtship' started. They had only even spoken twice since it all began. Before she used to have to insist that he be careful to protect their secret, and that he be more concealing of his desires and their familiarity in public. But now, there was no secret to be kept, except of something that had been.

"Senora?" an approaching servant called, bringing her out of her thoughts.

Vera discretely slipped the letter she had been looking at under her thigh.

"Si, Maria?"

"Doctor Helm is here to see you," Maria told her.

"Doctor Helm?" Vera asked.

"Si, Senora," Maria answered, "Will you see him?"

"Yes, of course. Bring him here."

"Si, Senora."

The Doctor. Grisham had told her about things regarding the doctor and Tessa, or rather the Queen. The doctor had gone so far as to risk his life for her. Did he know Tessa was the Queen of Swords? Was he in love with her as herself as he seemed to be with the Queen? Did she love him back? Vera sighed sadly at the thought.

"Senora Hidalgo."

"Doctor."

"Thank you for seeing me," he said, taking a seat opposite her.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked.

He looked sad and tired, she thought, but perhaps her own misery colored her judgment.

"Well, this is going to seem quite a bit after the fact," he began, noting the unusual, and very welcome, lack of flirtation from the senora, "But I have this curiosity that's been gnawing at me and you might be able to set the matter to rest for me."

There was a usual confidence missing from the doctor's voice, she noted. He was holding something back.

"What is that?" she asked him.

"When you were in a coma after your fall, what happened to you between the time you were lying unconscious in my office and the time you returned safely to your husband?"

"Well," she said, seeing neither the significance of the question but neither the harm in answering, "I was still unconscious, but I believe the Queen of Swords took me from your office. I don't know how she woke me up, but I when I did, there she was. She explained to me what had been going on because of - the misunderstanding, and I hurried home to explain things to Gaspar."

"So the Queen got you out of the office that night," Helm repeated shortly, looking decidedly sad, Vera thought.

"I assume so."

The doctor smiled a smile with no joy in it.

"Thank you, Senora," he told her hastily, "I know it seems odd, but I just couldn't stop puzzling over that, so I came by to ask."

Indeed, she thought.

"Doctor," Vera said, before he could get up to leave, "I have a bit of a curiosity myself, if you don't mind my asking."

"Sounds like a fair trade, I suppose," he replied, relaxing back into his seat, but not looking relaxed at all.

"What do you think of Tessa Alvarado?"

The doctor opened his mouth, but seemed unable to speak at first. With a small, defeated shake of his head, he answered her honestly:

"She's…a mystery."

"A beautiful mystery, no?" Vera pressed.

The doctor only nodded, not even considering why the senora was interested.

"One you would like to solve?"

He shrugged.

"I don't think the senorita wants to be solved," he said with a heartrending softness. Its effect stalled Vera's inquiry for a moment.

"And what do you think of her relationship with - Capitan Grisham?"

She watched intently as the doctor's face tightened. Still, he managed to reply in an even tone.

"I don't see them as a good match, but that's her decision to make, I suppose."

"And his," Vera added solemnly.

"Yes," the doctor agreed absently, "Well, thank you for your hospitality, Senora, but I should be getting back to my office. I probably have patients lined up into the Plaza by now."

Vera nodded.

"Hasta luego, Doctor."

"Good day, Senora."

The mystery of Maria Teresa Alvarado, Helm thought ruefully, riding back from the Hidalgos. She was the Queen of Swords. It all made sense: the conversation he overheard with Grisham last evening in conjunction with Vera's account, Marta's unusual description of Tessa and opposition to her courtship with Grisham, as well as Marta's helpfulness to the Queen, and Tessa's apparent act. What didn't make sense though was why Grisham was courting Tessa instead of tying her blindfold before a firing squad.

The doctor winced. He was blackmailing her. It was all some kind of bargain, her estate for his silence. But how could she agree? Because it was her estate not only for his silence, but also for her ability to continue as the Queen of Swords, he realized. That's what her conversation with him that night as the Queen had been about! That was the decision she had to make: to leave and be free, or to stay and be the Queen. The courtship had begun soon after that night, maybe it was even the very next day - he wasn't sure.

No wonder she didn't want her mystery solved, he thought. It was an utterly insufferable situation.

A week later, the wedding date was set.

The doctor awoke in a cold sweat. A scuffling came from the examining room. Pushing aside lingering visions from the nightmare, he lit the candle by his bedside and carefully went to investigate. His heart quickened, more from hope than fear.

"Evening, Doctor," her voice strained from beside the window.

He knew what that strain meant. He quickly set down the candle and escorted her to the table.

"What is it tonight?" he asked, "Shot, sliced, stabbed, bruised or burned?"

"You forgot broken," she quipped, "But tonight, it's shot. Just a flesh wound - to match the other shoulder."

He sighed and got to work.

"How?"

"Senor Ramos came back from Santa Barbara a few days ago following some business deal - "

"A deal of high stakes poker," the doctor informed her wryly.

"I see. Well, since his return he has been spending his money very freely, which did not go unnoticed by a few suspicious newcomers to the pueblo. I followed them tonight to his home."

"Did they get away?"

"Oh no," she answered, smirking slightly, "They're just hanging around in Senor Ramos's stables for the night. They'll get picked up by soldiers sometime in the morning. They didn't give me much trouble, pure amateurs really. Senor Ramos, on the other hand, is an excellent shot. I'm just lucky it was so dark."

"Ramos shot you?"

"He heard noises coming from his stables and thought he was being robbed," she explained without any bitterness, "Which, under the circumstances, was a reasonable assumption."

The doctor shook his head. Amazing, he thought. Among all the wedding plans she had to be making, she still found time follow suspicious characters and foil their devious plots. Wedding plans, he thought again, as if he had just remembered.

"He apologized," she continued, in Ramos's defense, "And said he'd come by tomorrow to pay my medical expenses."

"All of them?"

Her amusement was cut short by a gasp of pain.

"Easy," he soothed, "We're almost done."

He glanced at her face out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly flashbacks of all the blood, her, writhing in pain -

"That it?" she asked after a moment, his hands having stopped.

"Huh? Oh. Yeah."

He turned his head and the candlelight revealed to her the beads of sweat across his brow. She glanced down at his hands, wrapping the excess bandages. They were shaking.

"What's wrong?" she blurted out, afraid he was ill.

"Nothing."

She took a hold of his honest hands. They relaxed under her touch. He cleared his throat to answer, but refused to look at her.

"I had a nightmare before you woke me and bits of it just came back," he told her carelessly.

He'll never tell me, she thought.

"About the war?" she asked.

He shook his head, still looking away from her.

"I have a nightmare," she confided in him, releasing his hands, "I've had it many times. Sometimes I'll have it every night for several weeks straight. And every time it's exactly the same, up until the end and then it can be different."

He didn't ask, but his stillness gave away his interest. So she continued.

"Someone very close to me was murdered some time ago. I was far away, unable to return even in time for his funeral."

When she had to pause to collect her emotions, Helm told her softly:

"I'm sorry."

She smiled briefly in gratitude, then continued:

"But in the dream I hear that he is dying, not that he has died, and I know, as one knows in dreams, that if I ride fast enough, I can still reach him in time. So, I race across the countryside for hours and hours, realizing as I go that I will be too late. Too late to save him. Perhaps too late to even say good-bye. Finally, I reach him, barely hanging on to life. I watch him die in my arms. This is where the dream varies. The first time he died and that was it. Since then, he changes, though I don't notice it until after I wake up. Sometimes he changes to others I'm close to…"

Marta, he thought.

"Or someone I knew long ago… or someone I don't know at all, a nameless ranchero, or an elderly widow, sometimes an orphan. Sometimes I see the face of …someone I've killed…"

The grief in her voice tore at him and he nearly cut her off with "Tessa, don't - ". Forced to address her without the familiarity, he awkwardly began at the same moment she continued:

"You don't have to - "

"But most of the time, lately … his face is yours."

He could only stare at her for a moment, his mouth still open from being caught mid-sentence. She waited, eyes safely on the floor. Then, his side to her, he spoke.

"I dreamt you were here. In the middle of the night, just like now. You - you had some kind of a head wound. You were bleeding…profusely. All of it was pouring out from underneath your mask. You wouldn't let me take it off to treat the wound. I kept pleading with you to remove it, never trying to force it off. You refused. I told you you'd die, but you didn't answer. There was nothing I could do as long as the mask was on…there was blood everywhere, but still you wouldn't take it off, and I…couldn't do anything but watch."

"Did I die?" she asked.

The question was unexpected, but he took it in stride, suppressing the rise of tears.

"No," he answered with a light beginning of a smile, "No, you woke me up first."  
"Well then," she said after a pause, "We'd better make a pact."

"Pact?"  
"I promise not to die if you promise not to."

"Ever?" he asked, turning back to face her with a smirk.

"At least not until I can remove my mask," she replied.

"Well, then I suppose I can at least promise not to be mortally wounded while you're out of town."

"Deal," she said, offering her hand seriously for him to shake.

But instead he first took hold of her forearm in his left hand and, with his right, slipped off the glove that covered it. Setting the glove aside a moment, he then grasped her hand in his and gave it a firm shake.

Vera wandered about the Plaza alone the day before the wedding. She took none of her usual pleasure in admiring fine fabrics and trinkets for sale. In fact, she barely looked at them, letting her gaze wander about the pueblo. In front of the Cantina, the Doctor sat drinking, also alone. He seemed to be looking at something off to his right, but upon further observation, Vera suspected he was in fact looking away from something. Off to his left, Tessa, with Marta a few steps behind, was leaving the church. She was watching the doctor with a clear expression of concern, slowing her pace every few steps, appearing as if she were about to change her course towards the troubled Englishman, but never doing so. Then Vera was compelled to turn around, as if she had felt his eyes on her. She saw where Marcus stood staring transfixedly at her from outside Montoya's office. Vera glanced back at Tessa to be sure he wasn't actually looking beyond her, to his fiancée. He wasn't. The movement of her head, however, awoke him to the fact that she had seen him and he quickly broke off his gaze with a frown and stalked up the steps to Montoya's.

Vera couldn't take it anymore; four miserable people, each lonely for another who was right there in front of them. It had to be put to an end somehow, Vera thought. She was sure of it now. So, she drew out a freshly written letter from her purse and her eyes searched the crowded plaza.

"Nino!" she called out to a young peasant boy nearby.

The boy ran over.

Handing him the letter and two shiny coins she told him:

"Give this to the Capitan when he comes out of the Colonel's office. Give it to him when he is alone. Es muy importante, comprende?"

"Si, Senora," the boy answered.

"Bueno."

Helm sat in one of the back pews, visualizing the ceremony in his mind over and over. But no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't imagine himself holding his peace. He wondered how Marta was going to manage it. Even Vera may struggle. Someone should really suggest to the padre that he skip over that part, he thought with only mild sarcasm.

He shifted in his seat with a sigh. One of many, and probably many more to come before the day - before his life was over. What was taking so long anyway? Where was Grisham, the wedding should have begun already. But then, it couldn't begin since some of the most prominent guests still hadn't arrived. The Hidalgos, in particular, were strangely absent.

Just then, Don Hidalgo appeared in the doorway. It seemed to take him minutes just to step inside. Helm turned around further in his seat and encountered the most desolate expression he had ever seen on any man.

"Don Hidalgo," Montoya greeted, not yet noticing the senor's misery, "Where is your lovely wife?"

The doctor rose quickly to join them. The man was on the verge of tears!

"Don Hidalgo?" Helm inquired.

"I need to speak with Tessa," he told them softly, his voice wavering.

"Padre," Montoya called, "Would you please fetch the bride-to-be?"

Hidalgo gave a sharp sort of gasp at the colonel's words. Helm and Montoya watched the don in silence, Helm noting what appeared to be two letters clutched in his trembling hands.

"Don Gaspar? What's wrong?"

Tessa approached them with Marta close behind.

"Where's Vera?"

Gaspar took a deep breath and then raised his teary gaze to hers.

"I'm afraid she's not coming," he said, struggling not to choke on his words, "And neither is your fiancé."

Realization hit her face almost immediately. Helm saw her attempt to look hurt by the news, but it was only her sympathy for Don Gaspar which was genuine.

"They're both gone?" she asked him in a soft, even voice, "Together?"

He nodded, unable to speak and held out one of the letters to her. Taking another deep breath he told her:

"She left this letter for you with mine. I didn't read it. I -"

Tessa nodded quickly, putting an arm on the don's shoulder.

"Let me change out of my dress, Don Gaspar," she told him gently, "And then we can go back to my hacienda to discuss our misfortunes in private."

He nodded.

"Will you stay with him please, Doctor?"

She averted her eyes from him even as she made the request.

"Of course," he answered, knowing that sharing a gaze was certain to lead at least one of them to reveal too much. But soon, he promised himself, reining in his elation at the unexpected turn of events, it would all be revealed between them.

"Please excuse me gentlemen," Montoya said, "I have a deserter to find."

After poor Don Gaspar returned home that evening - feeling just as heartbroken, but less alone - Tessa re-read Vera's letter twice more to herself before dictating it to her confidant:

Dearest Tessa,

You are the truest friend I've had in a long time and one of two regrets I have as I make my decision to leave with Marcus. But you are also one of my reasons.

I know you will forgive me for stealing away your fiancé. You are in fact quite grateful to me, no? He has told me everything. Everything he knows of it anyway. As a woman I saw much more and that is why I had to do what I have done, despite what it will do to my beloved Gaspar. For I do love him dearly, but I am in love with Marcus. In life we must be true to our hearts, Tessa, no matter how misguided they may be. You are lucky my friend. Your heart guides you to a man of character as well as passion. (Don't deny it, you're as easy to read as this letter). By leaving with Marcus, I have cleared the path for you. Will you follow your heart? I pray that you do. Please pray for us - you know how badly we need it. And please, please, be a friend to Gaspar. I know you will.

Farewell, my friend,

Vera

P.S. Doctors are very cunning individuals, often discovering things other than illnesses and cures.

Marta didn't say anything, but Tessa could see that her eyes had stopped moving.

"What do you think she meant by the postscript?"

Marta looked up from the letter at her friend, betraying nothing.

"You should find out."

Tessa sighed.

"How?"

Marta just shrugged.

"She only 'cleared the path', Tessa," the gypsy answered, gesturing with the letter, "It's up to you to take it or not."

"But how?" Tessa persisted, annoyed with Marta's vagueness, "I can't straight out ask him if he knows…I can't just tell him - "

She paused at the thought. She'd wanted so badly to go to him ever since she learned Grisham was gone for certain, ever since she had read Vera's letter. If she could, she would have burst into his office and fell into his arms with relief. But she had no cause. He didn't know.

Seeing the turmoil in Tessa's face, Marta took her hand by the wrist and placed the letter in her palm.

"Follow your heart. Before it's too late."

The words brought back visions of her dreams, flashing through her mind: racing across the countryside, being too late to tell him…

"I have to go," Tessa breathed whipping around and rushing off in the direction of the cellar.

Marta smirked to herself.

"Finally."

Finally, Helm thought, even as his heart skipped beat. He had been waiting, pacing, fidgeting in his office ever since she had left with Gaspar, hoping for sight or sound of her. He had lost his tiny scrap of hope that she would come. She didn't know, after all, that he knew. Even if she wanted to see him, she had no reason to give. And he hadn't even thought to go to her hacienda himself until the moment he spotted her, slipping out of the shadows as the Queen. He quickly rose from his chair.

"Good evening, Doctor."  
"Good evening," he replied with a gentle smile. Out of habit, he scanned her for signs of injury and happily found none.

"What can I do for you?"

"I came because I made a mistake the other night."

"What's that?" he asked, not knowing what to expect.

"I had us make the wrong pact," she began to explain in only a half-serious tone, "Promising not to die is something neither of us can do. And in reality, I don't think a fear of the other's death is what is truly haunting either of our dreams."

He looked at her somewhat doubtfully for a moment, but then asked in curiosity:

"What do you propose?"

Her answer was suddenly solemn and soft.

"I promise to no longer mask myself from you, if you promise not to be distant with me."

Tessa watched him for a response, inwardly terrified. It took him a few moments, hours to them both, before reacted. He walked over to her, stopping only inches away. It took her an additional moment to grasp what he had done; he had closed the distance between them. She smiled.

"Your turn," he said, trying to suppress an excited grin.

She exhaled nervously as she reached behind her head to untie the mask. To her surprise and frustration, her hands began to noticeably tremble. It was her idea, she thought, why was she afraid?

Unconcerned, Dr. Helm reached up and took her by the wrists, bringing them down between the two of them.

"Perhaps you will allow me the pleasure," he asked, "Senorita Alvarado."

Tessa gasped, a hand instinctively jerking back up to the concealing lace. He released her then, and, letting his grin break free, proceeded to remove the mask.

"How? Did you just now - ?"

He lowered the mask down from her face and took a moment to regard it in his hands before meeting her stunned expression.

"Lucky for me the departed Captain Grisham is 'such a fool'," he told her, "I saw him pull you aside the night after we spoke - about your marriage. I was concerned by his roughness, so I crept around the other side of the stables to make sure you all right. Little did I know at that time how capable you were of dealing with Grisham yourself."

"You heard our conversation and figured it out?"

"Essentially. I had to chat with Senora Hidalgo first about how she got out of my office that night to be sure. It wasn't easy accepting what a complete dolt I had been all this time."

She smiled shyly, not knowing what to say.

"I'm sorry," he said with abrupt sincerity.

"For being a dolt? I understand. You couldn't help that."

She held back a giggle, knowing it would only serve to further betray her nervousness.

"Very funny," he sneered good-naturedly, "Yes for being a dolt too, but mostly for all you had to go through with Grisham. I know you had Marta on your side, but I wish I had been there for you."

She shrugged.

"What could you have done?"

"Whatever you wanted me to. Whisk you away from here, suffer with you in silence…drug Grisham and toss him in the hull of the next ship bound for Timbuktu."

Tessa laughed in surprise.

"Why didn't I think of that? That might have worked!"

They both reveled in the thought.

"You were there for me, you know," she told him after a moment.

He raised a sincere eyebrow.

"As the Queen, you gave me the perfect advice."

"Well, technically it wasn't mine -"

"You told me," she cut him off with a chiding smile, "That if I wasn't true to myself first, nothing I undertook could work out. It took me a long time to figure out how to be true to myself when for so long I seemed to have - at the least - two very different selves. But I chose the course that would leave me as true to both of them as possible, and, in spite of everything that seemed stacked against a happy ending, everything worked itself out. And so, you were right."

Helm let his left hand holding the mask drop to his side. With his right, he gently cupped his queen's cheek.

"So," he asked softly, carefully, "Tessa, this is your idea of a happy ending?"

Their gazes locked, their hearts racing.

"Almost," she whispered.

He smiled and closed the last bit of distance between them.


End file.
